oceantheorem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oceantheorem) wrote2007-04-18 10:32 pm
oceantheorem) wrote2007-04-18 10:32 pm
This entry is so long, you won't want to start it unless you have a snack.
I saw Jamie online last night and impulsively said hello. We chatted for a minute; about why he hadn't called and so forth (dropped his cell phone in the ocean one too many times), and shortly he mentioned he had a calling card, and asked to call me. It was 1 am at this point, and I'd been on my way to bed, but I said yes. We needed to talk, it needed to happen, there were things I needed to say.
We talked about music. We talked about love. We talked about grad school and science. A lot. We talked about weed. We talked about our families. We talked about hair. We talked about professors. We talked about weather. We talked about us. I cried. I think he cried too. I brushed my teeth. He ate chips. We talked about dreams, and sleep paralysis. We talked about camping. We talked about drinking. And did I mention we talked about grad school and science? A lot? We talked about current relationships, or lack thereof. We talked about climbing. We talked about what we've learned in the last year. We talked about lesbianism. I apologized and tried to explain my actions, and he begged me not to feel guilty on his account, because he's moved on.
It was the best conversation I've ever had, and it didn't end until 5 this morning.
I miss him and I miss his friendship. We agreed to be friends, to beat each other if we don't stay in contact. We agreed that we were such huge parts of each others' lives that it would be a shame to lose contact. And we had so much fun together, we got along so well--why couldn't we be friends? A tiny voice inside of me noted that we've never been friends. We dated or didn't speak, period. A slightly louder voice screamed that he was my best friend, that I needed him even while we were apart, that it would be such a huge loss to forego friendship for fear of still being attached.
He sounds good. Really good. Pass-you-in-the-grocery-store-and-feel-superior kind of good; like I'm the evil girlfriend who hurt him and now he gets to gloat that he recovered better than I did. Of course he didn't, but today while I thought about the conversation I realized how pathetic I must sound. Of course he must have picked up on how much I hate Connecticut (I think I actually said that I hate Connecticut) and that I'm not happy with where my life is. I told him--and I believe this--I "woke up" in January or February, after, geez, fourteen months of being cold and unfeeling, only to wonder where the hell I was. Where did my life go? This is not the path I was on. As I said to him, I had planned to take a year off--where did that year go? What happened to that plan? How did I end up at Yale?
And yet, and yet... I've learned so much (...(at what cost?)...), and I do adore Yale. I love science, and I enjoy my research. I'm torn between two labs because they're both so good. I'm lucky in so many ways--I'm getting a Ph.D. at Yale! I'm a full year younger than all my classmates! I have so many things going for me... And yet I still feel lost.
Talking to him was good. I felt balanced. He said I sounded good. Maybe I'm going through some stuff, but he said it didn't sound like I was depressed. And I think he's right--I was depressed back in November/December, and I told him that, but I'm not now. I think I'm adjusting and forgiving myself and letting go. I'm trying so hard to let go.
He's climbing mountains and graduating this quarter and doing well with Tamar (going on ten months now) and taking a year off to take grad courses at UCSC and apply to graduate schools (one of which might be Yale, over which revelation I did take a moment to freak out) and living on East Cliff overlooking the ocean. She's going to take a few years to travel, and he's going to grad school, and he refuses to do long-distance, but he doesn't sound destroyed over the idea of breaking up with her, just matter-of-fact. Must be more to that story.
God, it was a good conversation. I answered the phone and his voice said Hello and a thousand million moments crashed into each other, and suddenly I was in Quantum Mechanics writing his name in the margins of my notes, daydreaming about our second first kiss and the way his smell lingered on my sheets and on my clothes. It was like stepping back through time, leaving the last year somewhere in the future and returning to a period before my feelings shut down, before I pulled away from him, before everything just went insane. Four hours later, I felt like we'd never been apart, like I'd walked through everything with him. I'm so proud of him. (Am I allowed to be proud of him?) At the same time, I feel like I was the one that was supposed to walk through this with him. I was supposed to be there for him; it was my job and I regret giving it up. I think he understood that.
No one here understands the gravity of the conversation. When I say that I spent four hours on the phone with Jamie last night, they look at me as though I'm crazy to have stayed up till 5 am on the phone with an ex. Who does that? It's sad that no one here can begin to comprehend the depth of meaning that conversation held. I let so many things go, I got closure on so many points. Maybe I even began to forgive myself last night; Jamie certainly forgave me ages ago.
So, overall. We are going to be friends, and I think I can do that. I need to do that, for me. He's so much of me. I miss his friendship so much. We always had so much fun together, such good conversations. I can't believe we filled four hours with interesting conversation. I don't have four hours' worth of interesting things to say.
I was shaken today, I admit. It hurts that he moved on so quickly (he addressed that, in our conversation last night, and I understand that when something is there you should take the gift and not ask questions, but it still hurts that three months later he was dating someone amazing and doing so well, when I was just starting to realize the gravity of my decision. and sometimes I think I never really did get over losing him the first time; how dare he get over me?). It hurts that he's happy and I'm not. And it hurts that he misses me.
So, that's the state of that.
I made it to the post office yesterday (just in the nick of time before it closed), and picked up my package from my secret pal. I got three skeins of beautiful cotton yarn (from Greece!), in two shades of blue and one of green (three skeins = approximately 300 yards). I adore it and have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do with it, but I'm considering just holding it for the next three weeks or so and demanding that its colors sink into the landscape outside. (...or knitting a tank top? will cotton hold its shape enough to make a shirt? I've never knitted with cotton... and why do I keep typing "cotten"?)
I also got Milano cookies (and I would not have made it through today without that bit of sugar and chocolate!), and an adorable little Japanese notepad that has some sort of microbe on it. It's awesome. I think it's supposed to be a bed bug. It's so terribly nerdy! ...Sorry for the lack of pictures, but scanning and resizing and uploading just sounds so daunting right now. Perhaps later.
Also, I have a date this weekend. I think.
We talked about music. We talked about love. We talked about grad school and science. A lot. We talked about weed. We talked about our families. We talked about hair. We talked about professors. We talked about weather. We talked about us. I cried. I think he cried too. I brushed my teeth. He ate chips. We talked about dreams, and sleep paralysis. We talked about camping. We talked about drinking. And did I mention we talked about grad school and science? A lot? We talked about current relationships, or lack thereof. We talked about climbing. We talked about what we've learned in the last year. We talked about lesbianism. I apologized and tried to explain my actions, and he begged me not to feel guilty on his account, because he's moved on.
It was the best conversation I've ever had, and it didn't end until 5 this morning.
I miss him and I miss his friendship. We agreed to be friends, to beat each other if we don't stay in contact. We agreed that we were such huge parts of each others' lives that it would be a shame to lose contact. And we had so much fun together, we got along so well--why couldn't we be friends? A tiny voice inside of me noted that we've never been friends. We dated or didn't speak, period. A slightly louder voice screamed that he was my best friend, that I needed him even while we were apart, that it would be such a huge loss to forego friendship for fear of still being attached.
He sounds good. Really good. Pass-you-in-the-grocery-store-and-feel-superior kind of good; like I'm the evil girlfriend who hurt him and now he gets to gloat that he recovered better than I did. Of course he didn't, but today while I thought about the conversation I realized how pathetic I must sound. Of course he must have picked up on how much I hate Connecticut (I think I actually said that I hate Connecticut) and that I'm not happy with where my life is. I told him--and I believe this--I "woke up" in January or February, after, geez, fourteen months of being cold and unfeeling, only to wonder where the hell I was. Where did my life go? This is not the path I was on. As I said to him, I had planned to take a year off--where did that year go? What happened to that plan? How did I end up at Yale?
And yet, and yet... I've learned so much (...(at what cost?)...), and I do adore Yale. I love science, and I enjoy my research. I'm torn between two labs because they're both so good. I'm lucky in so many ways--I'm getting a Ph.D. at Yale! I'm a full year younger than all my classmates! I have so many things going for me... And yet I still feel lost.
Talking to him was good. I felt balanced. He said I sounded good. Maybe I'm going through some stuff, but he said it didn't sound like I was depressed. And I think he's right--I was depressed back in November/December, and I told him that, but I'm not now. I think I'm adjusting and forgiving myself and letting go. I'm trying so hard to let go.
He's climbing mountains and graduating this quarter and doing well with Tamar (going on ten months now) and taking a year off to take grad courses at UCSC and apply to graduate schools (one of which might be Yale, over which revelation I did take a moment to freak out) and living on East Cliff overlooking the ocean. She's going to take a few years to travel, and he's going to grad school, and he refuses to do long-distance, but he doesn't sound destroyed over the idea of breaking up with her, just matter-of-fact. Must be more to that story.
God, it was a good conversation. I answered the phone and his voice said Hello and a thousand million moments crashed into each other, and suddenly I was in Quantum Mechanics writing his name in the margins of my notes, daydreaming about our second first kiss and the way his smell lingered on my sheets and on my clothes. It was like stepping back through time, leaving the last year somewhere in the future and returning to a period before my feelings shut down, before I pulled away from him, before everything just went insane. Four hours later, I felt like we'd never been apart, like I'd walked through everything with him. I'm so proud of him. (Am I allowed to be proud of him?) At the same time, I feel like I was the one that was supposed to walk through this with him. I was supposed to be there for him; it was my job and I regret giving it up. I think he understood that.
No one here understands the gravity of the conversation. When I say that I spent four hours on the phone with Jamie last night, they look at me as though I'm crazy to have stayed up till 5 am on the phone with an ex. Who does that? It's sad that no one here can begin to comprehend the depth of meaning that conversation held. I let so many things go, I got closure on so many points. Maybe I even began to forgive myself last night; Jamie certainly forgave me ages ago.
So, overall. We are going to be friends, and I think I can do that. I need to do that, for me. He's so much of me. I miss his friendship so much. We always had so much fun together, such good conversations. I can't believe we filled four hours with interesting conversation. I don't have four hours' worth of interesting things to say.
I was shaken today, I admit. It hurts that he moved on so quickly (he addressed that, in our conversation last night, and I understand that when something is there you should take the gift and not ask questions, but it still hurts that three months later he was dating someone amazing and doing so well, when I was just starting to realize the gravity of my decision. and sometimes I think I never really did get over losing him the first time; how dare he get over me?). It hurts that he's happy and I'm not. And it hurts that he misses me.
So, that's the state of that.
I made it to the post office yesterday (just in the nick of time before it closed), and picked up my package from my secret pal. I got three skeins of beautiful cotton yarn (from Greece!), in two shades of blue and one of green (three skeins = approximately 300 yards). I adore it and have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do with it, but I'm considering just holding it for the next three weeks or so and demanding that its colors sink into the landscape outside. (...or knitting a tank top? will cotton hold its shape enough to make a shirt? I've never knitted with cotton... and why do I keep typing "cotten"?)
I also got Milano cookies (and I would not have made it through today without that bit of sugar and chocolate!), and an adorable little Japanese notepad that has some sort of microbe on it. It's awesome. I think it's supposed to be a bed bug. It's so terribly nerdy! ...Sorry for the lack of pictures, but scanning and resizing and uploading just sounds so daunting right now. Perhaps later.
Also, I have a date this weekend. I think.
no subject
I promise to only hold your name against you a tiny bit. :-P
no subject
Haha, it's okay. I got into a big interpersonal mess last year with a suitemate named Erica. Then I met this girl online who is in almost exactly the same position as I was then, whose name is...Erika. It's weird, I have to admit.